Five, four, three, two, one.
“Ahhh, shit! Damn,” EJ panted after he released inside of me before lying next to me.
I rolled my eyes and closed my robe before getting up and going into the bathroom to shower. This was getting old, and I was tired of the same ole song and dance.
As much as I love my husband, our sex life, on the other hand, sucked and wasn’t anything to brag about. I’ve been dealing with him and his missionary-loving ass for the last five almost six years.
It’s the same thing every Sunday night and Friday morning for seven to ten minutes. I look at my feet while he does whatever it is that gets him off. Which reminds me, I need to schedule an appointment at Sassy’s for a mani and pedi. Meanwhile, I have to get mine in the shower afterward.
I can’t decide who’s to blame more, me for allowing it, Edwin for doing it, or my mother for planting the seed in my head that sex is for men. Growing up, I was sheltered and privileged, and I lived mostly under a rock.
After I had sex for the first time with Sheldon Clarke, the guy I thought was my boyfriend, he basically told me, “I only wanted to break that pussy in.”
My mother told me that sex is never for the woman; it’s used to help or make men feel good about themselves and that my job as the woman was to lay there and not make a sound until he’s done.
So that’s what I did in my next situationship when we got to the point of having sex. Eventually, after the fourth or fifth time of me laying there and being as quiet as a mouse, Richard decided we should part ways because I wasn’t adventurous or vocal enough in the sack.
It wasn’t until Tahir, my acquaintance, a few years back gave me the reality check of a lifetime that I changed my ways. To be honest, I knew the whole time Tahir wasn’t into me like that, but mother insisted that I “keep after him” when I told her about him. Of course, after we met, I did my research.
My whole life, my mother told me that I needed to find and marry a man with money to continue living the way I grew up, which ultimately played a part in why I chased Tahir the way I did.
Anyway, after he set me straight, I began a journey of self-love and self-discovery, finding out what makes me happy. During that process, I learned that I genuinely love helping the less fortunate. Once I figured that out, I found a job that allowed me to do just that.
I became the Fundraiser Coordinator at the Prince Enrichment Center, or The PEC, a community center, women’s shelter, and homeless shelter founded and owned by Alana Prince.
It wasn’t until a girls’ night with Alana that I learned that sex was supposed to be enjoyable for both parties and not just the man. Alana and her sisters gave me some pointers to heighten my sexual experience by myself and with a man.
My IntimateXXX subscription also helped with that. I watched what has to be hundreds of videos while pleasuring myself with Black Mamba, my eight-inch black dildo, until I knew what boiled my puhtaytuh and what really got me off.
After that, I doubled back and called Richard just to put the things I’d learned about my body to use, and the roles completely reversed. He was the one calling, texting, and popping up, trying to deepen what we once had.
But like JoJo said, “It’s too little, too late.” I didn’t want him anymore.
I didn’t understand why Richard broke things off initially, but after being with EJ and only having sex like this, I completely understood now. Too bad divorce wasn’t in the cards for us.
Opening the plastic case I kept on the built-in shelf, I retrieved my eight-inch waterproof dildo, suctioned it to the bench, and proceeded to take myself on a little ride. As I guided myself up and down on the vibrating blue and fuchsia ombre-colored silicone, I pinched my nipples and bit my lip to control my moans.
Sliding one hand down between my legs, I began to rub circles on my clit. I could feel my happy ending coming, so I humped and rubbed faster. I shuddered and damn near drew blood from my lip when I came.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
I dismounted my toy, cleaned it, and put it away before showering. After my shower, I sat at my vanity and went through my face routine before giving myself a light and natural beat to slay my face for the day. Hopefully, it would ease the aggravation coming through on my face.
“Beloved, Martine made breakfast. Are you joining me?” EJ asked from the doorway of our bathroom.
I could feel him staring at me as I continued to make up my face, and it was rather aggravating, but I wasn’t going to give him any attention.
“What’s wrong, Brandi?” he eventually asked.
“Are you asking because you want to know and plan to change it or asking to say that you asked?”
He deep sighed. “Tell me so I can fix it, Beloved.”
“The same thing that’s always wrong, Edwin. I’m not satisfied with our sex life, and to be honest, I’m tired of having this same conversation. So, are you actually going to change what’s wrong, or are we going to keep doing the same ole song and dance?” I questioned, turning to look at him.
Edwin was about five-foot-ten, lanky but toned, sculpted chest, covered in warm tawny brown skin with yellow undertones, clean shaven face with chiseled cheekbones, thick pink lips, a wide nose, and strong arms that were once my safe haven.
His whiskey brown eyes bore into my chocolate ones. As much as I loved getting lost in his orbs, I could barely look at him right now. This wasn’t the man that I’d fallen in love with.
He sat on the edge of our bed half-dressed in a fresh out of the pack black wife beater and slim fit black trousers. His hair was a little wild, but that’s how I preferred his luscious dark brown curls.